


Come Rest For The Winter

by K5C8



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Conflict Resolution, Cuddles, Fluff, Geralt Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geraskier, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is a witcher, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Reunion, So much angst, Title from a The Amazing Devil Song, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, chapter title from The Haunting of Hill House, chapter title from a Mumford & Sons song, geraskier hurt/comfort, hes also a witcher now, jaskier is v sad, jaskier slight whump, lots of crying though, no beta we die like calanthe, title from wild blue yonder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K5C8/pseuds/K5C8
Summary: This prompt was given to my by dearest @breadgenie892 on tumblr: “BIG BRAIN MOMENT: Imagine of Jaskier was kidnapped and put through the trials after the mountain breakup.” We talked about it a bit and bounced a few ideas back and forth and I came out with this. Also, I’ve been reading the books and Geralt talks a lot. So he’s definitely going to be speaking in this fic.I was originally going to have this all one large chapter, but it felt pretty natural to split it up and allow each section it’s own focus: the first chapter setting the tone and providing Jaskier’s current state of being, the second focusing on Jaskier and Geralt’s reunion, and the third ties everything up with my softbois reconciling.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 279





	1. White Blank Page

**Author's Note:**

> The song included here is White Blank Page by Mumford & Sons. I highly recommend giving it a listen. Marcus Mumford’s performance of hurt and rejection and rage is just 👌 so good.

Everything was too loud and too bright for Jaskier as he woke up and looked about the room he was in. Not much there: a bed, a chamber pot, a bowl of water on the stand below a small mirror. He looked into the mirror to asses the damage and noticed a cut on his left cheek and his bottom lip was busted. It looked more like it had been bitten through, Jaskier noticed as he studied it closely. When his eyes travelled up and met with their reflection, his heart dropped to his stomach and he knew it. These are the markings of a witcher.

His hair was the same soft brown and his eyes the same shade of cornflower blue, but there was now a small ring of gold surrounding his thin, cat-like pupils.

“No,” he slowly drew out. Voice still gruff from all of the screaming while enduring the trials. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” He heaved a sob as the memories of being taken, beaten, and strapped to a table came flooding back to memory. Flashes of potions and mad-looking alchemists bustling about the room attacked his memory as, falling to his hands and knees, he felt the sharp pains of a migraine coming on. His tears left dark drops on the dusty stone floors as he heaved and sobbed, terrified of what his life looked like from then on as well as mourning for the life he once lived.

Once he felt like he could cry no more, Jaskier got up from the cold floor and steadied his breathing. As he headed toward the door, he felt the viscous grip of pain and rage overtake his senses. 

\- - -

After a few months, Jaskier was able to mentally block out most of the overstimulation his heightened senses gave him. His ultimate goal was to get back to barding and he would do it or die, Melitele help him. He learned to control the dilation of his pupils so that others wouldn't see his cat-eyes and mistake him for an actual witcher, though that would often end in a headache and early night. He treated his throat with tea and honey’d remedies, as well as a few pricy concoctions from apothecaries. He regained his smooth tenor within a month. He chose to ignore that this was probably done in part by whatever Yennefer did for him after the djinn incident. Playing the lute was bit of an adjustment. With his newfound strength he struggled to not play too loudly or grip the neck too tightly, but he was able to make the necessary adjustments with little to no difficulty. All in all, he found himself back on the road and ready to play for taverns, court, and festivals alike much earlier than anticipated.

What Jaskier was unable to accommodate and heal, though, were his marred heart and wounded pride. Though it had been months, almost a year even, he still felt the sting of Geralt’s rejection and harsh sendoff quite fresh. Perhaps that was another witcher thing, he’d thought on many a night. They were always saying how witchers don't feel, but Jaskier found not just his senses heightened but his feelings, his emotions, heightened as well. He knew that Geralt had intense emotions and that he struggled to communicate them. He had thought it was just a Geralt thing. He could see now it was probably a witcher thing, because his emotions had been running a mile a minute since he woke up in that room after the trials.

He tried not to stew in the thought that Geralt must had been holding back his annoyance and disdain toward the bard for quite some time before spewing it all out on that mountaintop. He’d accepted soon after the dragon hunt that Geralt had only tolerated him. He’d kept Jaskier around for the sake of putting off an argument or an emotional blowout. Or he’d allow Jaskier to keep him company when the nights got especially cold or lonely. But it was just that: it was all at Geralt’s convenience and, the second that convenience would wear off, Geralt would toss Jaskier aside like the contents of a chamber pot. 

Every once in a while Geralt would open up just a little bit and Jaskier would think maybe, just maybe, his walls were coming down. Perhaps there’s a softer side of Geralt coming out. But then he’d pull back or, worse, Yennefer would come traipsing in to steal him and reclaim him for a night or two. Like she had on the mountain. She’d taken him back and then thrown him out the next day. And, according to the silver-haired witcher, it was all somehow Jaskier’s fault.

He sat in that rejection for over a weeks trying to find a way to put it into a song. Trying to put into words how it felt that day to be so harshly rejected by the one he held most dear, but all he got staring right back at him was that damned white blank page. After weeks of self-torture, weeks of staring that those blank pages, he decided to take a break from new compositions.

Eventually, after the abduction and the trials, he finally found the words and he began composing. It wouldn't be for just anyone’s ears though, he'd decided. This one was for him, and only him. The gaping wound Geralt left in his heart had festered and clawed its way into bitterness and torment, and he poured it all into that one song that only his ears would hear. He was left alone to burrow into his anger and resentment. And, oh, what a cold place that turned out to be.

Even still, Jaskier grabbed his lute, shattered heart in tow, and set on down his own Path as the Lone Witcher-Bard. He got quite a kick out of giving himself such a title. Rather than hunting monsters and beasties alike for coin, he did what he always had when he was not with Geralt: he travelled the continent and performed in taverns and court and festivals. He drank and laughed and fucked his way through. Except for when he didn’t. When he couldn’t.

Controlling his senses was a very new thing and often led to overstimulation, migraines, and occasional anxiety attacks. The everyday strain of keeping his pupils dilated had left him with a perpetual headache and light sensitivity. HIs other heightened senses were occasionally attacked as well. When a tavern or festival crowd got too loud, too enthusiastic, too drunk, too rowdy, he’d find himself hastily retreating to his rooms, claiming an early night when really he’d be up for hours trying to calm the storm within. Trying to remember to breathe, but not through his nose otherwise he’d smell too much. He’d bury himself beneath the blankets and pillows, blocking out all light contact to with his eyes. He’d block his ears with cloth or cotton so as to not hear the rumbling noises surrounding him. The memories of waking up strapped to that table and being forced through the trials would come flooding back and he’d eventually find himself curled in the furthest corner from the door. He’d remind himself that that feeling of dread, that impending doom, was all in his head and that it would take much more than an anxiety attack to kill a witcher. A witcher. Because thats what he was now, isn't it? So, yes. He’d drink and laugh and fuck his way through life except for those few nights where he had to relive the traumas of his dreadful fate.

\- - -

He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the pull to sing that song, that one that was for him and him only, that day at the tavern in Rinde. Oh, who was he kidding? He knew _exactly_ why he’d chosen that place to debut this song. It was because of _him_. And _her._ And because of what had all started in this ruddy town. So, as he picked up his lute and began the intricate finger picking he’d composed for this song, he poured all of that pain into his performance. He closed his eyes as he played, unable to make eye contact with his audience during such a raw performance:

> Can you lie next to her
> 
> And give her your heart, your heart
> 
> As well as your body?
> 
> And can you lie next to her
> 
> And confess your love, your love
> 
> As well as your folly?
> 
> And can you kneel before a king
> 
> And say “I’m clean, I’m clean”?
> 
> But tell me now, where was my fault
> 
> In loving you with my whole heart?
> 
> Oh, tell me now, where was my fault
> 
> In loving you with my whole heart?
> 
> A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage
> 
> You did not think when you sent me to the brink _,_ to the brink
> 
> You desired my attention
> 
> But denied my affections, my affections
> 
> So tell me now where was my fault
> 
> In loving you with my whole heart?
> 
> Oh, tell me now where was my fault
> 
> In loving you with my whole heart?

Jaskier ended the song with more plucking and vocalization as he held back his tears.

When the song was finished and he opened his eyes, they met with a pair of guilt-ridden honey-golden orbs from way across the tavern.

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier whispered to himself as he stood up and hastily collected his coin. “My apologies, dear lads and ladies. I’ve got a bit of a migraine thats come on just now, so if you'll excuse me I’ll have to take my leave and turn in a bit early.” And with that, he quickly made his way to the staircase that led to his room.


	2. Two Witchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is afraid of what him being a witcher might mean to Geralt. Geralt tries to apologize, but Jaskier is hesitating to let him in.

Had his heart been of human speeds, Jaskier was sure it would have been pounding right out of his chest as he made his way up to his room before Geralt could catch up. He thought it so weird that, even as he felt sheer panic coursing through his body, his heart sustained such a slow rhythm.

 _Even if he_ were _here to apologize,_ Jaskier thought to himself, _I can’t have him see me like this. Like a witcher._

Jaskier knew what Geralt thought of his own mutations. He couldn't survive a second rejection from the other witcher, not when it was something so out of his control. He was also still much too angry at Geralt to deal with him right now, especially after performing that song. That song was _his_ , and he cursed himself for playing it in public. Geralt was _never_ supposed to have heard it.

He heard Geralt’s footsteps bounding up the staircase after him, could hear the other witcher calling out his name, but Jaskier made it to his room and slammed the door just before the witcher could reach him. With his hands and forehead pressed against the door, he let out a long breath and willed the tears in his eyes to not fall.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, firm but not unkind.

“Go away, Geralt,” Jaskier yelled quickly as he banged the door with his palms.

Geralt just stood there surprised, hurt, and a bit concerned at Jaskier’s show of anger. He’d never used force to convey emotion before and Geralt was quite stunned.

After a minute of just staring at the door, Geralt felt his face turn to an expression of great sorrow as he felt hope slipping away. He knocked quietly and softly asked, “Jask, can we please just talk?”

“No,” Jaskier breathed out, just barely audible. He turned around to lean against the door with his shoulders, head falling back as he stared at the exposed beams and rafters on the ceiling. The tears he’d been holding in began to fall steadily out of the corners of his eyes.

When Geralt could smell the salt of Jaskier’s tears, it was like a dam had broken in his heart. It split right in two and everything came flooding out, leaving sharp splinters in it’s wake. “Jask, I’m so— I'm so sorry, Jaskier. I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean them. I create and shovel my own shit. It’s my own fault. And you were always there to help, to comfort me. You've been the only constant good thing in my life for the past twenty years. I know I’ve fucked it up. Fucked it real bad.”

He took in a heavy breath before continuing. “Jaskier, please hear me, _I’m in agony without you._ It’s— it’s so quiet. The days are long and silent and the nights are lonely and cold and my heart—my _soul_ —it aches for you. I tried to find you. I tried to catch up to you at the inn. I wanted to make it right as soon as you walked away, but I needed time, an hour or so to gather my thoughts. And then you were gone. _Please_ , Jaskier,” Geralt let out quietly before the tears started slipping from his eyes as well. “I’m sorry. I love you. I'm an idiot and I love you and I took you for granted but _please,_ please let me in. Let me fix this. We can fix this. Please.” Geralt stood outside of that door for a while, hoping it would open. “We can fix this,” he said once more, unable to figure out if it was Jaskier or _himself_ he was trying to convince of this. 

Just as the silver-haired witcher’s hope was all but gone and he turned to leave, the door opened. He looked up and there was Jaskier: he now had a small scar on his cheek and his hair had grown out a bit. Geralt longed to look into those beautiful cornflower blue eyes, but Jaskier was hiding behind his grown-out fringe.

They stood like that for a minute as Geralt tried to get Jaskier to make eye contact with him, to no avail. Geralt finally took a step forward and Jaskier turned and walked over to look out the window across the room. After closing the door, Geralt sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Jaskier, and waited for him to speak.

“Did you know they took me?” he finally said. Faint. A normal person would have had to strain to listen but Geralt, of course, had heard every word. “At… at first I thought they wanted something. Wanted to know where Ciri, your child surprise, was. Or perhaps just where _you_ were. It was no secret she was destined to be yours. Or maybe just something about the dragons even.” He took a minute, another tear slipping down his face as he bit into his bottom lip.

Still looking out the window, he continued. “But they didn’t. They didn't ask a single question. Not about you, or Ciri, or anything. Not even my _name_. They weren't even Nilfgaardian. They just took me off the road. Gagged and bound me. Put a sack over my head and threw me into a carriage. There were others too. They didn't make it, I don't think. I didn't see them when I left.“ he cut off again, clearing his throat. “They took us and beat us and… Days. It was days. Weeks, maybe. Woke up strapped to a table one day and they—“ the sentence stopped short as Jaskier turned around, looking at Geralt and allowing his cat-like pupils to fall back into slits.

“Well,” he chuckled darkly as more tears came spilling out. “I’m assuming you can guess what the alchemists did to me on that table.”

“Jaski—“ Geralt tried to cut in as he stood up from the bed, but the witcher-bard put a hand up to stop him and resumed his speech.

“I don't even know who they were. Just know that when I woke up, everything was _loud_. Too loud and too bright and I could smell and _feel_ everything far too much.” Geralt looked on, nostrils flaring and tears pooling once again into his honey-golden eyes. His heart was breaking for his bard-turned-witcher. Thoughts reeling as he processed all that had happened to Jaskier in his absence. Because of him. Because he’d pushed him away.

“I wasn't on the table when I woke,” Jaskier continued after a long pause. “I was in a room, by myself. I saw my reflection in the mirror and everything I was feeling finally made sense. I had a name for what I had become. For what they took me and turned me into. Witcher.” Geralt flinched at the way Jaskier had said the word, as if he were afraid of the title. “The door was locked. But I broke out anyway. I broke out, and I cut every last one of them down. I don't even know where I found the damned sword, it must have been one of theirs. I just found it and started swinging. I didn't stop until everything else was still.”

Jaskier waited a minute before continuing, jaw clenching and face hardening into an expression of calm rage. “I burned down that cottage. It was small, in some forest. I burned their bodies and their experiments and their godsdamned table they put me on. In hindsight maybe I should have looked around a bit for more answers, but we both know how theatrical I can be,” he exhaled sharply. “I burned it all and I walked out and everything was so—“

Jaskier broke down in choked sobs as he leaned against the wall, hands grabbing the sides of his head. “Its too much, Geralt,” he blubbered out. “Everything is too loud and too bright and I can smell everything and everything _feels_ rough. And I’ve always known the trials don't take your emotions but, gods, do I wish they at least _dulled_ them. It’s like they've been _heightened_ instead. When I’m angry, it’s all I can do to not scream and thrash. When I’m upset, its far worse than it used to be. How do you do it, how do you—“ he inhaled sharply before letting another sob wrack through his body.

“Jaskier,” Geralt began as tears began a steady flow down his face. “I’m so, so sorry Jaskier.” He stepped closer and enveloped the crying witcher into his arms. Jaskier held on tight as his body shook, and together they sank to the floor. Geralt pulled Jaskier into his lap and practically cradled him there, whispering apologies and reassurances between his own sobs.

“This is my fault, Jaskier.” Geralt eventually began. “I should have been there. I should have protected you. But instead I hurt you and drove you off. I was cruel and I sent you away on that godsdamned mountain because I couldn’t bear to lose you on anyone’s terms but my own. It was selfish. I was wrong, and I regretted it immediately. I was looking for you. I searched everywhere. You weren't at the inn down the mountain and I thought you’d gone off to avoid me. I slept there a night and then immediately went looking for you. I figured out pretty quickly that you were dodging me, but still I followed your trails, wherever I could find them. But then those trails went cold after a few months. I figured you’d hired a mage or someone to hide from me. Gods know I deserved it.”

“I _was_ hiding from you,” the bard said. “Before they took me, I— I was avoiding you. I couldn’t stand to see you…” he trailed off, not knowing how much to tell Geralt.

“And then Cintra,” Geralt continued. “I had to go and find her. I had to accept that you didn't want me to find you and I had to get Ciri before it was too late. Gods, she was a mess when I found her. We had to make our way north to Kaer Morhen. I had to take her some place safe. Our whole way there, I kept an ear out and I asked if anyone had heard from you. Nobody had seen you. I thought you’d gone west to Oxenfurt or maybe home to Kerack. But, Jaskier, I never” he broke off to stifle a sob and cleared his throat before continuing. “I never thought for a second that you had been taken. Gods—“

Geralt broke off as he succumbed to his sorrows and suddenly it felt as if Jaskier were holding _him_ , comforting _him_. No, it wasn’t just that. They were holding _each other_. Comforting _each other_. They cried together as they sat there, tangled up in one another and not letting go, for fear the other would once again disappear.

After a considerable amount of time, they had both calmed enough to fall into steady breathing and synchronized heart rhythms.

“Bed,” Jaskier croaked out after yawning into the crook of Geralt’s neck.

“Hmm?” Geralt asked, brought back to reality at the sound of the witcher-bard’s voice.

“Time to sleep. Time to dream,” Jaskier let out with a sigh as he disentangled himself form Geralt and stood.

“Shouldn’t… shouldn't we talk?” Geralt asked as he followed Jaskier up from the floor. “I mean, I don't want to leave you tonight without talking about things.”

“Hush now,” Jaskier whispered to Geralt, tucking a strand of silver-white hair behind Geralt’s ear before turning to undress and settle into bed. “We’ll talk it all out in the morning. But for now, if you don't mind, I’d very much like to sleep.”

“Right,” Geralt said as he turned for the door, realizing it was late into the night and he hadn't even booked a room.

“Geralt,” Jaskier called out, and continued once the other witcher had turned back to face him. “I don't want you to go… I just, I’m so tired. Stay, lay with me,” he asked.

Geralt conceded, removing his trousers and tunic before sliding into bed behind Jaskier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I couldn't think of a more clever title for this chapter. Its currently 1am and I only got 2.5 hours of sleep the previous night.  
> Also I know this chapter is heavy on the angst, but I promise there will be comfort and reconciliation.
> 
> If you're enjoying, please leave a comment and/or kudos below 😘 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @geraskier-trashh


	3. The Rest Is Confetti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> upon waking, Geralt and Jaskier have the opportunity to truly talk things out, reconcile, and figure where they go from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know that confetti wasn't invented until like the nineteenth century, but I'm going to say its been invented already in this AU. The chapter title as well as Jaskier’s little speech about forgiveness is taken in part from Netflix’s last episode of The Haunting Of Hill House, titled “Silence Lay Steadily”. I love, love, love that show so much and the book as well. I just really felt the need to incorporate that little bit into this fic.  
> And yes I may have also snuck a twilight reference somewhere in there too. I won't apologize for that. Sue me. (pls don’t actually sue me, I’m very broke at the moment). Extra points if you can comment where you think the Twilight reference is :D

Jaskier woke to the feeling of calloused hands gently running up and down his back, outlining the dips and plains of his smooth and relaxed muscle.

“Well, good morning,” Jaskier murmured sleepily as he burrowed further onto Geralt’s chest. The bard smirked as he heard a low and steady rumble coming from the other witcher, not unlike a cat’s purr.

“We’re going to have to talk about it all eventually,” Geralt finally said.

“I know,” Jaskier let out with a huff. “I just… this is nice,” he whispered, holding onto Geralt’s midsection tightly.

“It is,” Geralt whispered back in agreement, moving a hand up to stroke Jaskier’s cheek before carding his fingers through messy brown hair. “I just… I know I hurt you, and in turn you endured a lot of pain. Not just from my words but also from what I failed to protect you _from_ in my absence. Jaskier, I—“

“Oh, hush,” Jaskier began as he propped himself up on an elbow so as to make eye contact with Geralt. “Its hardly your fault I was abducted by those mad scientists. As I mentioned last night, you had nothing to do with it. They didn't ask about you or Ciri or anything. They simply took me because I was there and I was alone. _And before you say that its our fault I was alone let me just say this:_ Would they have abducted me were you there? No, absolutely not. That would have been ludicrous. _However_ ,” he emphasized before the other witcher could interject, “it is completely _normal_ for us to split up after such grand adventures. Who’s to say we would not have parted ways naturally after the dragon hunt, even without that dreadful argument?”

“It was hardly an argument, Jaskier. I all but threw you down that mountain,” Geralt got in before the bard let him completely off the hook for the abduction.

“I said hush, Geralt,” Jaskier continued. “I will not let you blame yourself for something that you were not present for. We’re companions. Our lives have been intertwined for some twenty years now. Of course you’ve had some influences on my decisions. It’s a ‘had you not done or said this I may not have gone and done that’ type of situation. But those people, regardless of what their motives may or may not have been, had absolutely nothing to do with you. They’re not other witchers, they weren't after you or the princess or any information. My guess was they were playing with life, paying gods, trying to create their own species of bounty hunters or killers. I’m hoping I burned all there was of them and that we never truly find out what it was all for,” he finished with a heavy sigh as he snuggled back onto Geralt’s chest.

“Jaskier,” Geralt began as he wrapped his arms around the bard once more. “I really… I really cant help but feel responsible. In a way I understand what you're saying, but I don't deserve the grace you're giving me here. I really don’t. You should be throwing me to the wolves, yet here you are in my arms. I can’t… I don't deserve it, Jask. I just don’t.”

“Well it’s _my_ grace to give,” the brown haired witcher let out with an exasperated tone. “And I’m giving it to you. Accept it, and learn to forgive yourself. I won't hear another word of you blaming yourself for my newfound witcherness. If anything, we do have one small blessing come out of this…” Jaskier mumbled that last part.

“Oh? And what might that be?” Geralt inquired.

“Well,” Jaskier drew out the word far longer than necessary. “Being a witcher means that I’ll be aging far slower than before. No crows feet for this bard!” He let out in a lighter tone along with a laugh.

“Jaskier, I’ve been through the trials,” Geralt reminded him. “I know the pain they inflict. Most people die. I’m beyond glad you didn’t, but I cant bring myself to laugh about it.”

“I understand, dear witcher,” Jaskier conceded. “What I _don't_ understand though,” he began with a more serious and angry-sounding tone.

 _Oh, boy,_ Geralt thought. _Here it comes. Knew we’d talk about it eventually._

Jaskier began again, “What I _don't_ understand was where you got off blaming me for every pile of shit you’ve gotten yourself into.” He continued before Geralt could get a word in. “I heard your apologies last night and I forgive you, dear heart, obviously. But I spent _months_ planning out just what I was going to say if we were to run into each other. So just let me get this off my chest. And remember, _I’ve forgiven you,_ ” he emphasized that last part to make certain Geralt understood.

“Now, where was I?” Jaskier asked with a pleasant tone.

“Uh…” Geralt just sat there bracing himself for the onslaught of Jaskier’s eloquent anger.

“Ha, yes,” Jaskier sighed before picking speed back up. “The piles of shit. I mean really, Geralt? _Who_ was it who tried to get you to open up about destiny and your child rather than allow you to manically use a djinn to wish yourself into sleep—which was a _really_ bad idea, might I add? Me. It was me. Djinns always twist your words. For all we know, you could have been put into a deep cursed sleep had you used your wish as you originally intended. But I digress. So yes, I tried to get you to open up rather than bottle your feelings with a bloody djinn.”

“Thats fair,” Geralt agreed.

“ _And another thing,_ ” Jaskier continued on. “Who was it that advised you to leave the very sexy, but insane, witch to her inevitable demise? Hmm? I didn't make you go back in there. I didn't force you to use that wish, whatever it was. And since then I had advised you to steer clear of her. Hell, I tried to get you away from the dragon hunt.”

“You did,” Geralt agreed once again, a tone of remorse creeping into his voice. “You didn't deserve to have that thrown into your face.”

“No, I did not,” Jaskier said matter-of-factly. “And I must address one more thing, dearest. Just this one and I will have said my peace.” Geralt nodded and the blue-eyed witcher continued his rant, “The Child Surprise. I know I dragged you to dear Pavetta’s betrothal feast, but I warned you to lay low and then you bloody well went and sat at Queen Calanthe’s side! I mean, of all the _idiotic_ — No, I’m sorry. I won't be name-calling. But I did warn you to lay low, and yet an all-out sword fight is what you got yourself into! I know you invoked the Law as a joke, a dig at destiny if you will, but that was all you. I’ve done nothing but look out for you and try my best to warn you of the danger that you put yourself into, and yet you blamed me for all of it. That hurt, Geralt. It really did,” he concluded. His voice was tight, but he wasn't crying.

“You’re right Jaskier,” Geralt recognized. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I blamed these things on you. I’m sorry I pushed you away when all you ever did was look out for me and love me. You didn't deserve that. No excuses, I’m owning up to it. And I vow to do better by you, if you'll allow me to try.”

“My dear witcher,” Jaskier said with every bit of fondness possible. “As I said before: you’re forgiven. Now, that doesn't mean you won't go unpunished, though,” he let out in a teasing manner. ”I expect you to repay my time and trouble with an abundance of kisses and cuddles. That is…” He trailed off, suddenly nervous. “That is, if I’m reading this correctly. This is what you want, Geralt?” he asked as he tightened his grip on the silver-haired witcher.

“Yes, Jaskier,” Geralt reassured the witcher-bard with a kiss to his head. “This is what I want. _You_ are what I want. I meant it, Jask. When I said I love you I meant it. I do. And I cant even fathom why you’d forgive me so easily—“

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, pressing a kiss to the witcher’s temple. “Forgiveness is warm, like a tear on a cheek. I love you completely. And you love me the same. That’s all. That’s all we have and thats all we need. The rest is confetti.”

Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out what exactly this meant.

Reading the other witcher’s expression, Jaskier elaborated further. “ _What I mean is_ , we love each other and thats all we need. Everything else can fall around us as destiny wills it. So long as we have each other, the rest doesn't matter.”

“Confetti,” Geralt said with a tone of agreement as he leaned in to kiss his bard.

“So…” Jaskier began after a few moments of soft kisses. “What now? I mean, where do we go next? Winter is nearing. When will you want to head north?” Jaskier inquired with an air of caution, trying to hide his disappointment that their reunion will not last nearly as long as he’d like.

“I’d like for us both to head north,” Geralt said. “To Kaer Morhen. I’d like you to come with me. Come rest for the winter. Get away from the bustle of civilization. If you want. Aside from never wanting you out of my sight again, you really should come for you as well. We can help you get a hold of your senses. Train in combat if you’d like. We won't force you to hunt on the Path. We didn't have a choice, but we’d never take yours from you. But, you know, you've got all of these heightened abilities, it wouldn't hurt to train. Plus I’m sure you'd love to utilize all of the library’s resources. But its okay if you don’t—“

“Geralt,” Jaskier interrupted. “There’s no need to try and convince me. I’m there.”

“You’ll go?” Geralt asked with all the hope he could muster.

“Yes,” Jaskier said with a grin. “I’ve been dropping ‘invite me to Kaer Morhen’ hints for the better half of two decades now. Plus, I refuse to lose any more time with you. Gods, all the time we’ve wasted.”

“We have all the time in the world, thanks to your… _witcherness_ , as you called it.”

“Oh, dearest,” Jaskier said with a contented sigh. “No measure of time with you will be long enough. But lets start with forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for sticking around and finishing this fic! If you enjoyed it, please leave kudos and/or comments below and tell me what you liked about it 💜💜💜


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